“Poems are made by fools like me,
But only God can make a tree.”

“The only difference between me and others is that they think they can change something with cute little poems, nice cards or embracing trees and being nice to little lapdogs.”

“God only, who made us rich, can make us poor.”

“As the poet said, "Only God can make a tree"— probably because it's so hard to figure out how to get the bark on.”

“Tell me then, does love make one a fool or do only fools fall in love?”

“I’ve made myself a rich man. You shouldn’t assume that makes me a fool.”

“The only person who could make me stop singing is the one who made me sing: God, the beauty up there!”

“I made such a fool of myself,” she lamented.
“Love does not make you a fool.”
“He didn’t love me back.”
“That does not make you a fool, either.”
“Just tell me …” Her voice cracked. “When does it stop hurting?”
“Sometimes never.”

“Any fool can destroy trees. They cannot run away; and if they could, they would still be destroyed — chased and hunted down as long as fun or a dollar could be got out of their bark hides, branching horns, or magnificent bole backbones. Few that fell trees plant them; nor would planting avail much towards getting back anything like the noble primeval forests. … It took more than three thousand years to make some of the trees in these Western woods — trees that are still standing in perfect strength and beauty, waving and singing in the mighty forests of the Sierra. Through all the wonderful, eventful centuries … God has cared for these trees, saved them from drought, disease, avalanches, and a thousand straining, leveling tempests and floods; but he cannot save them from fools — only Uncle Sam can do that.”

“A tree doesn't make a thunderstorm, but any fool knows where lightning's going to strike.”